History is as the Art I See
by jimmy whispers
Summary: People have been requesting a Bellarke AU in a High School setting where Clarke teaches Art and Bellamy is a History teacher across the hall. I hope you enjoy the development! Please leave reviews!
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

By Jimmy Whispers

In small towns people talk, but Clarke Griffin wasn't from a small town and in this particular one, this certain cliché was turning into a nightmare. In small towns people tend to play reality make-believe. What is unachievable in their lives, they pretend it's happening in others'. But honestly, of all the people here, of all the people at Sky High School, they had to choose the new art teacher from the city?

Clarke pulled her ashy gray Toyota pickup in the faculty parking lot, rested her head on the worn steering wheel and took a deep breath. She was late. Class started in 5 minutes, but she had gotten hardly enough sleep the night before.

She had parked on the opposite end of the parking lot and had a distance to walk, but she was convinced that taking the long way to class was the only way she was going to survive today. The quickest way to room 100 was through the east door, passing the adjacent room 102 on the left. But today, Clark took the South door and began weaving through two different halls and a sea of students to get there, despite the fact that the tardy bell had rung and she was only halfway there.

She quickened her pace and focused on getting to the haven that was her classroom 100. Little did she know what she was about to face as she stepped through the door, looking at her feet and saying, "Hey, everyone. I'm sorry I'm late, but I'm sure we all know how Friday morni-." She stopped. This was a high school drawing class, first thing on a Friday morning. It was too quiet. She looked up and soon saw why. Mr. Bellamy Blake, World History teacher from room 102 was at the white board.

"Oh. Good Morning, Miss Griffin," he said capturing her petrified eyes with his and nodding a little. The sun shone through the window and caught on his eyelashes in such away that made Clarke blush and look at her shoes thinking, " _Damn those eyes."_

"Good morning, Mr. Blake. Why are you here?" She realized how she sounded, but didn't feel bad. This was supposed to be a place of social safety, not emotional imperilment.

Those eyes turned down with confusion for a moment, but rather than being offended at the obvious statement of disdain, he smiled because he knew it was misplaced.

"Octavia was saying that you might not be here until second period."

He motioned to a seat on the very front row that supported the smart ass, beauty queen that was Bellamy Blake's baby sister, Octavia Blake.

Clarke shot Octavia a two second glance that could shatter glass. Octavia smiled wide and avoided eye contact. Bellamy caught each moment and smiled almost wider, freckles accentuated, dimples deep. Clarke blushed deeper and nearly every girl, besides Octavia, stifled giggling.

"But since you're here now, I think I'll continue prepping." Bellamy said as he began to leave the room. Clarke stepped aside, leaving plenty of space between him and the doorway. He was just passing her when someone called from the back of the room.

"For what?"

Bellamy ignored the nervous laughter of the other students and instantly checked to see if Clarke was okay. Her face was twisted with mortified anger. He stepped in front of her.

"For my next history lesson," he said, chin raised, chest high. "And I expect you to be there this time, John Murphy."

Everyone catcalled John Murphy and he sat back with a sick grin on his face. Bellamy understood that kids were perverted, but Clarke's feelings were genuinely hurt. So, with just as much genuity, he replied to the snark that made her uneasy.

"Or I'll flunk you."

Mr. Blake didn't yell, but his voice shook the room and everyone in it. They were silent.

"I hope you heard that."

He turned and gave Clarke a little smile mixed with concern and apology and without another word, left the room briskly.

Still blushing, Clarke swallowed and pretended nothing had happened. What else was there to do? But something did happen. Something was happening and what had kept her up for two nights now carried over and swam in her mind all day.

Before Tuesday, both classes of rooms 100 and 102 had been making jokes about her and Mr. Blake since school began two months ago, but she never let it sway her feelings. She never even had a premonition. It's just what high school kids did. But after Tuesday, things changed.

Tuesday Morning was just another morning. Nothing irregular.

"Okay, guys. A lot of you have been coming to me wondering about the best way to draw hair. It's better to draw hair by shapes, like we practiced last time, rather than strand by strand."

Clarke was just ready to do her job to the best of her ability, sharing with the youth of America what was an outlet for her, but teenagers don't make anything easy. They all gave blank stares. Some not even at her.

"Here, I'll show you. Can I get a volunteer?"

The class had never been more silent. Clarke rolled her eyes.

"Come on, guys. I'm just going to pick one of you if no one volunteers."

Just then, Bellamy Blake popped his head in.

"Pick me!" He chimed, eyes seeking the attention that his huge smile was getting from every female in the room.

Clarke smiled. "Do you not have a class right now."

He beamed back at her and Clarke couldn't help but wonder how someone could glow like that.

"Naw, it's my prep period. I don't know about you Miss Griffin, but sometimes, mainstream curriculum teachers get bored."

"Whatever, you're such a nerd," Octavia mused from her usual seat in the front row. Everyone giggled a little, including Clarke and Bellamy grinned at his sister with skepticism, but endearment.

"Anyway," she negged. "Miss Griffin does _not_ wanna draw your hair, big brother."

The history teacher's smile turned down a little and he rolled his eyes. It wasn't unusual for his sister to poke fun at of the way he parted his hair to the side and combed it flat against his head.

"It's part of my job to look professional," he muttered under his breath. Clarke smiled and took him by the hand.

"No, you're perfect. Just come stand over here."

Suddenly Bellamy knew just exactly what Octavia was trying to do. She scrunched up her nose and snickered at the victory.

"So, he has really thick hair and you can see that he has a really nice head shape because his hair is combed flat. The trick is knowing what that shape is as kind of a guide."

She drew a side view of Bellamy's skull on the paper easel with a pencil, then another time as a portrait.

"Alright," she said heaving a sigh. "You don't mind messing it up a little do you?"

Bellamy was surprised, but he slowly started running his fingers through his thick dark hair, exposing curls and volume that took Clarke aback. But she didn't think much of it. She stepped forward to him and fixed pieces here and there. He smiled at his shoes.

"So can you see this shape here? I like to start either at the base of the neck or behind the ear and work my way around. Kind of like this." She spent the next few minutes sketching on paper, ignoring the stifled laughter coming from several different spots of the room.

"See how that's done?"

The room fell silent and the more smug faces she came across, the more irritated she became.

"Okay, I'm not sure how many of you actually paid attention, so I'll just leave this up here."

She turned to her coworker who was nervously shifting from foot to foot and pulling at the back of his neck. Looking at him, Clarke couldn't help but smile.

"Thanks, Miss Griffin."

"For what?" She laughed a little at this.

He simply smiled and looked at his shoes again.

"Would you be alright with me taking my lunch in here? Um," he stuttered. "That is if you'll also be in here?"

The comfort that Clarke once felt began fleeting and she was surprised at the sudden feeling of her heart racing in her chest. What did he mean? She took a step away from him and quietly responded without thinking.

"Yeah, of course."

Mouths all over the room had corners turned up, but none even compared to the angle to which Octavia Blake's countenance was glowing. Her eyes shone brighter than the sun that had just peaked through the wall of windows on the far side of the classroom.

"Perfect." He couldn't hide his enthusiasm and because of that, Octavia had to hide her face and choke back delighted giggles. Fortunately Clarke didn't notice, unfortunately Bellamy did.

"Um. Well, back to room 102." He cringed. " _Idiot_ ," he thought. "I'll see you then."

Despite the fact that Bellamy rushed out the door as quickly as possible, Clarke was still feeling pleasant, but uneasy.

She called to him, "Thank you, Mr. Blake."

He stopped and turned halfway around, just to meet her eyes. The rosiness of her cheeks matched the resting smile on her lips and her blue eyes froze him. He smiled at his shoes for the third time and ran his left hand through his newly ruffled mess of hair.

"You're welcome."

As he took five long strides down the hall and into the vacant room 102 that belonged to him, his heart skipped and he found himself more than excited for the bell to release his students at 12:15 and for the afternoon glow to illuminate the wall of windows on the far side of room 100 to make those steel blue eyes freeze him again.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

With each passing minute, Mr. Blake's nerves escalated. And each time he looked at the plain clock above the doorway, his heart seemed to fall lower onto his chest, sliding down his ribs along the way. Everything on the inside of him was amalgamate, including his mind, but fight as he might, the only way to know that things were sorting themselves out was by suffering from something similar to a heart palpitation when he remembered that lunch was in twenty minutes and that this time, he was going to spend it with Miss Griffin instead of by himself.

He had pushed himself through his two morning class periods, though stumbling and stuttering and losing focus. Clarke was all he could think about. What a cutie. He grinned to himself and checked that boring clock again. Only a minute had ticked by, but the slow passing hour couldn't loosen the corners of his mouth into anything less than pleasantry.

10 minutes left. He ran his hands through his hair. He liked it messy. It felt leisurely which was something he wasn't familiar with. He was always bound by something or another and had taken on more roles than what most young men of 23 would be able to handle or even be willing to for that matter. This made him wonder how old Miss Griffin was. In this town, they would hire anyone with even the most minimum of qualifications. He knew from his own experience that despite his lack of education, he was still hired full time with full pay. Because of this, he took his job seriously. He loved these kids, most of all, his sister. He cared about their future. But Bellamy Blake knew from living a life full of misfortune to watch out when something fortunate arises.

This thought seemed to eat up the rest of class. He was surprised by the sudden interruption of the awful school bell and kids shoving each other out the door to pile into their cars for the hour of carefree they had.

Mr. Blake stood, envying every one of them. He smiled to himself. If only they knew that the angst doesn't end after high school. If only they knew what throwing adult responsibility into a sea of feelings was like.

John Murphy was the last to shuffle out of the room in his dark, baggy clothes, and worn out combat boots. He lingered in the doorway.

"Hey, Blake, don't forget that the school got new cameras this year."

Bellamy leaned on his desk and folded his arms across his broad chest.

"Hey, Murphy, are you gonna do the homework I assigned you this time?"

He gave that boy a stern stare, unmoved and demanding of respect. His patients was always well worn with John Murphy and John was lucky that this time, teenage arrogance wasn't the only thing on Mr. Blake's mind. Still, he stared back.

"Yes, sir." With that, he put headphones in and left the room.

If Bellamy's emotions weren't stirred before, they were now. His stomach was churning and he had to tell himself several times in a row that it was because he was hungry and his lunch was sitting in a brown paper bag on his desk, calling to him. He heaved a heavy sigh, swiped the bag from its chill spot and turned toward the door in one motion. There was no other way to move his lead feet.

As he headed down the hall, he found himself zigzagging and convincing himself that Clarke was probably just as nervous for this interaction as he was. When he came to the doorway and knocked at the open door, the first thing he noticed was that the classroom was empty. This lulled him into a false state of confidence, because the second thing he noticed was how at ease Clarke Griffin looked sitting at her desk, feet on an extra chair, fork in one hand and twirling a pencil in the other. Suddenly his heart seemed to leap straight out of his mouth and take his breath with it, leaving his brain slower than the class period that had just ended and leaving him completely useless.

Clarke smiled at him. "Hey," she chimed. "Sit by me?"

Bellamy tried not to think about the irrepressible stupid grin that was working the corners of his mouth upward and took the extra chair that her feet once occupied.

They sat in silence for a while, but it wasn't long before observant Clarke noticed Bellamy's paper bag.

"What's for lunch, Mr. Blake?" she asked as she rested her head on the wrist of her fork hand.

Bellamy smiled and set his meal on her desk.

"Well, Miss Griffin, what we have here is two genuine, homemade, peanut butter and grape jelly sandwiches, a bag of nacho cheese Doritos and for dessert, a chocolate pudding cup."

He watched her watch him pull out each of the contents and set them neatly on her desk. With every word, the laugh lines that defined her mouth and nose became deeper.

"Oh, did I mention, the sandwiches are made with hamburger buns? I ran out of bread this morning."

She laughed a little and crinkled her nose.

"Classic," she set the fork down.

"What about you, Miss Griffin?" he needed only to look over, but then how would he keep the conversation going.

"Oh," she said picking up the fork again as if she remembered something that she had forgotten. "I just have a mild chicken curry with rice and I guess some veggies."

Bellamy looked from her colorful Tupperware to his frumpy little brown bag and back to her Tupperware, back to his brown bag. Clarke covered her mouth full of rice and chicken and laughed. She raised her eyebrows at such a childish quirk. Never the less it brightened her day and reminded her of home. With the thought, her mood changed and she stopped laughing. She poked her fork through rice grains and curry-coated perishables. Suddenly, the thought of lunch sounded less appetizing.

Bellamy Blake, less observant, but none the less intelligent sensed the change. He unwrapped a sandwich.

"It sure smells good. You made it yourself?"

Clarke nodded, her smile returning as something polite.

Bellamy rested both elbows on her desk, sandwich on the other ends, resting in his hands.

"Well, I'm impressed."

Clarke's smile turned up a little and she averted her eyes from his.

He sunk his teeth into the hamburger bun and a thick purple glob dropped out onto his chin and plopped onto the tabletop.

Clarke leaned back in her chair and chuckled. She didn't even bother to cover mouth this time. Here was a person she was supposed to know, but she found that in the last fifteen minutes they had just spent, she was learning more about him then she had in the past two months of them working together.

"Here," she reached under her desk to reveal several plain white paper napkins.

Bellamy took them and used three to clean up his mess. Clarke watched him. Quickly he looked for something to divert the attention from him. He pointed at the easel and the rendition of the thick mop currently atop his head.

"I never saw the results of your object lesson today. How did that work out?"

His diversion was successful.

Clarke remembered the shapes of him on the paper easel in gray graphite pencil lead. Something about it warmed her.

" I think they got the concept," she said. Her eyes found his again. "What about your lesson? Were you prepared?"

Bellamy thought back to his sloppy lesson and sighed.

"Not nearly enough," he grinned. "Which is a shame. I was trying to make it clear that ancient people were just as imaginative and innovative. I was going to use the Trojan horse from Homer's Iliad as an example. But I ran out of time. I just didn't have the mental game today." He took another, more carefully planned bite of his sandwich.

Clarke's eyebrows furrowed. "What's so innovative about it? It seemed like a pretty simple plan to me."

Bellamy chewed. "Well, you gotta think about it in terms of the time period. That's what history is all about; the steady progression of man, line upon line."

Clarke watched as he started to speak with his hands. One expressing what he was saying, the other there holding a half eaten sandwich, moving for moral support.

"Here, try to think about it this way."

Bellamy did his best to explain the material of his lesson with the clarity and passion that he needed in class today.

Clarke watched for a while, but Bellamy's passion seemed to drive hers. She took up a napkin and the pencil in her right hand.

It wasn't until Bellamy noticed how tactful his wording was, that he realized he had almost shared his whole lesson. He stopped and rubbed his right temple with the tips of this right hand.

"Oh, no, listen to me. I probably just bored you to death by rattling off practically the entirety of my lesson material."

Clarke smiled down in front of her.

"Not at all," she said. "I was listening."

She held up the napkin. Bellamy took his head out of his hand. She had sketched out a wooden horse and an animated version of both of them, smiling out a window she had made of the horse's eyes.

She out stretched her hand and gave it to him. He took it without a word and smiled wide and flattered.

" _There is definitely something different about you, Miss Griffin,"_ he thought.

He held his breath for while. The bell rang. He stood.

"Miss Griffin? Will you have dinner with me tonight?"

Clarke was surprised by the invitation. Her stomach churned and she had to tell herself several times that it was just because she was full and her Tupperware was sitting on her desk, nearly empty. She swallowed.

"I would love to."

Bellamy smiled and turned to leave. Before he reached the door, he turned to face her.

"Thank you, Miss Griffin."

She nodded. He left.

She stood and slowly walked toward the front of the room, not really knowing what to think. She looked at the empty face on that paper easel. It was the one that belonged to him, and he was the only thing that occupied her mind, so she decided to fill it.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Clarke finished with his eyes. She was beginning to be frustrated that despite her skills, catching the brightness of his big baby browns was proving to be difficult and she found herself erasing more than she would've liked. Clarke's last period of the day was a preparatory period.

The back of her mind knew that she had things to do. She had lots of work to grade and all the tables where a complete mess. Besides the normal, paint, eraser shavings and pencil smudge, she had noticed earlier that the spot where John Murphy and Nathan Miller usually sat had something profane written next to a drawing of a penis and at the adjacent table, someone had clipped their fingernails during class. She had meant to get that cleaned up before anyone else saw it. But in the front of her mind was Bellamy Blake, almost obsessively. Responsibility was nagging her, but this need to finish setting his features on the easel was more than enough to keep her feet from moving and her right hand to keep at it.

The bell rang. It still didn't pull her away. It pushed her forward. She had a grip on those eyes now. Deep set, dark, but lite, bright and full of energy. Fixed under a slightly furrowed and experienced brow. Cautious, serious, but still innocent. Far from Naive.

She took a step back, finally to a place where she could anticipate peace. She was happy with those eyes. What did they know? She scanned the rest of the work. His nose was perfect, the bridge straight and aligned leading to a slight round, just enough to turn it upward, surrounded by light freckles. She followed them down to his mouth, which intrigued her. When she drew simple portraits, she usually didn't remember people smiling, but despite the complexity of her depiction of his eyes, his mouth was subtly, but noticeably turned up more than down.

She thought back to his actual person. A smile was all she could place him with. She recollected mostly a shy expression, but whether it was shy, embarrassed or enthusiastic and passionate, it was all smiles with Bellamy Blake. This made her smile. She continued to take in his graphite lined expression as a whole. All the shapes together. She stopped at his chin. The actual Bellamy Blake had a very distinct cleft in his chin. It made it turn upward in tandem with his nose.

Determination caught hold again and she tightened her mouth and took up that pencil. It wasn't much of a change, but it made all the difference. All his features were aligned now. She let out a quick breath and placed the pencil in its usual place behind her ear.

 _Perfect_ , she thought. She put her hands on her hips and turned to see someone at the door.

"That's quite nice, Miss Griffin."

The Vice Principal Marcus Kane stood straight and authoritative with his hands behind his back. He wore an awful tan suit and a white shirt with a navy blue tie. It was getting easier for Clarke to stifle laughter when she saw Mr. Kane in the halls or addressing everyone at meetings. It would be different if his personality didn't remind Clarke of a rabbit being chased by a hound. Fortunately for the school, him and Principal Jaha's personalities were very compatible. If Kane was the rabbit, Thelonius Jaha was the hound.

"Thank you, Mr. Kane," Clarke said with a curt nod.

"I just stopped by to see if you would like to head a little project for homecoming week."

" _Homecoming week? Right, that's next week."_

Clarke looked at her desk. Already it had quickly started filling with projects. Grading art was hard. She always loved everything the kids did. Even John Murphy's work, however dark and laced with masochism it was.

" _It's only Tuesday. What the hell."_

"Um, yeah I think I can handle a little something extra." she smiled politely.

"Great," Kane said folding his hands together. "Do you think you could gather some volunteers from your classes and help them create advertising banners for the football field and the front door?"

Clarke remembered how hard it was just to get a volunteer to model for her. But she had already agreed.

"Sure, not a problem. When do you need them done by?" she asked.

"By Friday, ready to be hung Monday."

That was plenty of time to get things done. She would gather volunteers first thing tomorrow morning and still have time to grade everything. Maybe Friday could be a carefree day.

"That sounds great, Thank you."

Kane turned to face the classroom. Suddenly Clarke was reminded of how messy it was. Her eyes got wide. There was nothing to say, nothing to do. She held her breath and waited for Kane's reaction.

A smile crept onto his face as he examined the papers all over the floor, the pencil shavings and the paint stains. He turned his whole body and looked at her paper easel again. Then back at the messy room.

Clarke stood motionless as Kane looked at her with raised eyebrows.

"Miss Griffin, how well are you acquainted with Bellamy Blake?"

Clarke caught the breath that she had been holding onto and laughed a little at the attempt Kane had made to make that question seem as casual as asking the time.

"Um, Bellamy?" She paused. Was that the first time she had said his first name outloud? "We've only talked some. Why?"

Kane's smile got wider at her obvious discomfort.

"Well you're both the youngest teachers here. I thought you two might have found more than work in common."

Clarke had nothing to say. When Kane saw this, he bowed his head at her.

"Have a good day, Miss Griffin."

Clarke waited until he had walked some distance down the hall. Then she let out a huge sigh and rushed to the sink. She had been holding her breath that whole time.

She soaked and wrung out a stained rag and began scrubbing the penis drawing off the back table.

" _Thank God he didn't walk back here,"_

"Dammit, John Murphy!" she hissed under breath. The blue bic pen he had used wasn't coming off easily, but she kept scrubbing as a sudden realization came forward.

The way that Bellamy had compared their lunches. And the way Kane looked at her drawing and the room.

"They have that same quirk."

Clarke laughed a little to herself as she weighed what she knew about her two colleagues together and a smile remained as she thought about how different they were.

She stopped the helpless cleaning task and looked at the easel. His was a face that she felt familiar with. But she didn't know him at all. She remembered the dinner invitation and suddenly became nervous. But there was still light in her eyes, because even though the thought of dinner was intimidating, it was all smiles with Bellamy Blake.


End file.
